She blinked, then quickly keyed in a response, posting the pictures Nathaniel had taken.
Lucy climbed out of the bath, wrapped herself in the bathrobe, brushed her teeth, did the whole cleanse, tone, moisturise thing with the stuff provided.
Only when she was done with all that did she allow herself the pleasure of opening the carrier.
The pyjamas were white-obviously-but they were spattered with candy-red hearts and she couldn’t wait to scramble into them. Fasten the heart-shaped buttons.
The slippers, fuzzy soft ones that you pushed your feet into, matched them. There was even a wrap that tied with a big red bow.
Further down the bag she found underwear. Yummy, silky, lacy underwear. And, right at the bottom, wrapped in tissue, a pair of shoes. Red suede with peep toes, a saucy bow and very high heels.
Not exactly like the ones she’d been wearing, but she couldn’t have chosen anything better for herself and she was wearing a great big grin as, her arms full of wrap and undies and shoes, she opened the door. And, for the second time that day, had a heart-stop moment as she saw Nathaniel, this time stretched out on her bed in a pair of worn-thin joggers, a T-shirt so old that whatever had been written on it had long since faded out, hair damp from the shower, bare feet crossed at the ankle.
Exactly the kind of eye candy that any woman would be delighted to find waiting for her after a delicious soak in a scented bath.
Her pleasure was somewhat dimmed by the fact that he was reading the file she’d carefully hidden in the locker room, although she had to admit that the glossy black cover nicely matched the decor.
‘I could have been naked,’ she exclaimed. Again.
‘A man doesn’t get that lucky twice in one day,’ he said, looking up, holding her gaze for so long that she forgot all about the file. ‘But cute will do to be going on with.’
‘The jammies
‘I can’t think how,’ he said, ‘but I’m glad she did.’ Then, ‘Tell me, do you talk to yourself in the bath?’
‘I was updating my diary. There was a lot to say.’
‘It’s been a busy day for Lucy B.’
‘Buzz, buzz, buzz… Do you want to hear what I said about you?’
‘Probably not.’
She told him anyway. ‘I said that you were a great kisser, unbelievably special and deeply unhappy. I seem to have missed your talent with a lock pick.’
‘I’m working on the happiness thing,’ Nat said, grateful for the distraction of the file. ‘And I didn’t have to pick the lock. We keep a duplicate set of keys to the lockers. People are always losing them.’
‘So? What? You wanted to check my story? See if I was telling the truth?’ Her grin was long since history.
‘If I’d even suspected that you were lying, Lucy, I’d have read the file in my office. I simply wanted to be sure that you had cast iron proof of Henshawe’s guilt.’
‘And have I?’
‘Yes, fortunately. It’s in the focus group section. The part where someone raised the fair trade question. There are detailed notes from the individual tasked to look into it and come up with a plan that would make them look good without compromising profits.’
‘But-’
‘There were a number of options. Higher prices. Lower margins. Cheaper materials. Or the handy solution that he went for. There’s a handwritten note at the bottom over Henshawe’s initials. “Option Four. Get on with it.”’
Nat held it up for her to see and she sat down heavily on the side of the bed. ‘So that’s it, then. Lucy B down the pan.’
‘Wishing you hadn’t opened Pandora’s box?’ he asked.
‘Good grief, no.’ She looked down at him. ‘You can’t think that.’
‘But you’re not happy,’ he said, leaving the question unanswered.
‘How can I be? People are going to get hurt. Not Rupert. I don’t care if he rots in jail,’ she declared fervently and the last shreds of tension, doubt left him. She wasn’t going to be seduced by the glamour, the millions. Her only thought was for the people who would be hurt when she brought the company down.
‘Tell me about it,’ he urged, dropping the folder and stretching out an arm, inviting her to lean back against his shoulder.
‘It’s always the innocents who pay,’ she said, snuggling against him. ‘I may have hated working there but hundreds of people-ordinary people-rely on the Henshawe Corporation to feed their families.’
‘Right.’
‘And it isn’t just them. There are the shops. If they’re not rebranded, they’ll close. Hundreds of women will lose their jobs. I’ve met some of them and they’re all so enthusiastic. So excited…’
She slipped down a little, getting more comfortable, her body heavier against him.
‘Even the poor devils in the sweatshops will lose out,’ he said, resting his chin on her head.
The scent of the soap she’d used was familiar, but on Lucy it was different, somehow.
‘I know. But what choice do I have?’ She fought a yawn. ‘The man’s a liar, a cheat and a crook.’
‘List your options,’ he suggested. ‘One, you go to the police. Bring him and his company down.’
‘It’s too horrible to think about. Can I go to sleep now?’ She closed her eyes.
‘Okay. Two, you could sell him out to the tabloids, write a book, make a fortune.’
‘Same result, except I get rich.’
‘You could share the money amongst the people who lose their jobs.’
‘Not rich enough to make a difference to them,’ she said, her cheek pressed into his chest.
‘No, not rich enough for that. There’s option three, the one where you walk away and let him get on with it.’
‘Nnngg.’
‘No? How about threatening him with exposure? You could force him to clean up his act in return for playing out the role as written? Number four, sticking with the plan, but with you in the driving seat.’
‘Wdntrstim,’ she mumbled.
‘No. Neither would I.’ Then, ‘What about me, Lucy? Could you trust me?’ No answer.
He didn’t need one. She was curled up against him, defenceless as a baby. She’d seen through his guard, peered into his darkest places, knew him as few people did.
And he knew her, too. She lived who she was. Caring for others. even when her own world was crumbling around her.
He was, without question…involved.
And deeply happy to be so.
The engine had caught, the motor was running and the road ahead might have bumps in it but it was leading exactly where he wanted to be.
‘Hey, into bed with you,’ he said, tearing himself away. He didn’t want to leave her, lose the soft warmth of her breast, her thighs curled against him. He wanted, for the first time in as long as he could remember, to lie beside a woman, sleep with her.
Just sleep.
Close his eyes and know she was there. Know she would be the first thing he saw when he woke. Know that he
